when nixon displaced the succade standard that really fucked everyone over.
a general sense of instability was inculcated from which the nation has never truly recovered.
this documentarian cut a bunch of archival footage together and talked over it for hours. he said there could be no art after the succade crisis.
a well-worn but solid bar.
a lot of people i knew in passing held onto this turn of phrase and used it on me like a tiny invisible knife. intellectual heavyweights, haha.
and i think my ex wrote a paper for a survey class on ersatz succade too, after he was z-listed at (ivy league), but before he got addicted to (semi-synthetic opioid).
in a general sense he was what you would call a bad guy.
more importantly, succade—the texture and taste.
incomparable.
you have to boil water many times.
there’s sugar involved.
and peels too.
the candied peels were cut into tiny squares. there were green, orange, and clear varieties of succade on the table, and i ate them all.
this might have been precious at one time, but now it means nothing.
cycles of degradation and collapse.
succade high school superlatives.
clearest—most lucid—sweetest—most fragrant—succulent-est
this general instability caused by the fall of succade has fundamentally altered our ability to relate to each other.
who are we but actors in the succade play?
it is too saccharine and opens to bad reviews.
i think the depths of my anger would startle you.
i can be sharp and directionless too–chekhov’s decorative katana.
i can be the blade.
i can be the boiling water.
i can thrust myself headlong into the grave and roll around in sugar.
but nobody asks me, so i don’t.